“Well, by God,” he said calmly, “I thought I’d seen you before. I heard you were out of prison. What’s your graft now, Eddie?”
“Yours,” replied Carter.
Smull, puzzled, awaited further explanation. Carter, twitching all over, stood digging at the bleeding roots of his finger nails.
“Well,” inquired Smull with his close-eyed, sanguine smile, “what do you suppose is my graft, Eddie?”
“My wife.”
“Hey?”
“My wife, Eris Carter.”
Smull’s features turned a heavy crimson. After a silence:
“So that’s the situation,” he said heavily.
Carter ceased twitching. He said very distinctly: “When you and Shill sent me up the River, that’s what you did to me, too.... On the day I was married to her, that’s what you did to me. You made a crook out of me because you didn’t pay me living wages when I worked for you. Then you made a jail-bird out of me. Now, you’ve made me a bum.